


A Story Without Speech

by erenyaeger



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erenyaeger/pseuds/erenyaeger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In which Eren is a musician who realizes music isn’t enough for him anymore and goes in search of something that is.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story Without Speech

**Author's Note:**

> _Without direct quotes, anyway. I decided to try an experiment._

When Eren was nine, he thought maybe once he got out of the fish-bowl town he grew up in maybe he’d find himself surrounded with more like-minded people. He only got in fights with his classmates because they were wrong, you see, but surely somewhere in the world there were people that were right. He remained optimistic.

 

When Eren was ten his mom died. The world stood still, and suddenly it seemed like no one in the world anywhere would ever understand him. Moving seemed futile.

 

When Eren was thirteen he took up guitar as a way to cope with his feelings, finally. He wrote songs about loss and although no one ever heard him, he thought maybe they were good. They were written with love, for his mother, and she had told him that anything done with great love was something good. The world felt like it started moving again, and for the first time in two years he felt like he wanted to move, too.

 

When Eren was sixteen he was about crawling out of his skin, just itching to leave. He idealized leaving, idealized the idea of big cities where he could start over and make a name for himself with his guitar and his voice. He wrote angry songs about hating where he was and who he was with and about leaving, and he worked to refine his skills with every song he wrote. Now moving was no longer a want, it was a necessity.

 

When he was twenty-one Eren left the house. Having a Dad for a doctor who paid attention to him with money instead of time together meant that rent wasn’t a hardship for him. He sunk his income into sessions at a recording studio and nights of playing at trendy, independent venues where he was surrounded with people that seemed so much shinier than anyone from his hometown. He wrote songs about feeling like he was awake after a whole lifetime of being asleep, and people noticed his awakening.

 

When Eren was twenty-two he started to hit the bigger venues opening for others. This time he was writing songs that were like sketches about the people and places he saw, only this time they were filled with wonder instead of hate. He couldn’t tell if the people there seemed to shine because they were different or because of the way the spotlights reflected off of them, but they liked him and he liked that they liked him.

 

When Eren was twenty-three Eren made his first _big_ hit. Now others were opening for him, and the people that the spotlights reflected off of _loved_ him. He loved that they did.

 

The feeling was surreal. Eren could say something in an interview and people would flock around him with messages of support and validation. People made work in his image, cherished his television appearances and would bid tons of money for an autographed record. People sent him letters and tweets to tell him they loved him, even. And he’d never even met these people. And they didn’t even know him.

 

The mistake Eren made was thinking that his groupies would _want_ to get to know him if he reached out- and when he did he realized why it was a mistake.

 

* * *

 

 

At twenty-six Eren was jaded.

 

It wasn’t his music carreer. No, that wasn’t it at all. The industry had been shockingly good to him, because he was a good-looking artist with a dreamy sound and sensitive, impassioned lyrics. And that shit sold.

 

No, he was jaded because, despite what nine-year old Eren and sixteen year old Eren wanted to believe, it didn’t matter where you went or who you were- there didn’t seem to be anyone in the world who liked what he thought, or even cared. All that had happened was instead of being labled _Eren the problem child_ he was labled _Eren the musician_ , and the problem with labels is that no one bothered to look past him. Not old teacher nor classmates, not people passing on the streets, not fans, not even fans he’d taken a chance on and bore his soul to, not people he’d tried to date (read: tried- and trying doesn’t work if you’re the only one putting out any effort).

 

This shattered him.

 

His sound shifted, and for once instead of feeling better when he wrote songs he just felt worse. It was a cry for help instead of a catharsis, and instead of anyone reaching out to him they reached to buy his CDs and records and he sold more than ever before. The record label he was working with commented that they were loving the new sound, and Eren wondered if they all hated him.

 

He decided he hated all of them.

 

He thought about giving up, packing up, going underground and leaving everything. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need their empty love and invalid validation, he didn’t need any of it. Especially not fucking love—

 

_It must be a fucking myth, he decided at the time- that’s why his dad never fucking bothered to spend any significant amount of time with his mom when his mom was still alive, and that was why every relationship he’d ever had withered when he talked about anything other than his music, that’s why right, love was a fucking myth at least it was in his life and all he wanted to do was give up on everyone in his life up to that point and wash his hands of the whole goddamn thing—_

 

 

Alas, though, he had more records to record and too many people to notice if he dropped the ball.

 

He did the second best thing and announced that he was going on hiatus.

 

He fed the press some bullshit about needing time and space for his creative process. Messages of support poured into his phone, and he almost threw the damn thing in a gutter. It was lucky for his phone that he actually had a few useful things left on it. He turned the phone off instead, then packed up, locked up his one room-apartment, and left.

 

Where he would go, he had no idea right then. He just knew he needed to go, and with that he got in his car and drove away.

 

* * *

 

 

He picked the city that he could get lost in the easiest.

 

It was good. It was big, people were fast moving, and no one gave two shits about where anyone else was going. When a car almost hit him when he had a walk-light Eren decided that he had made the right choice.

 

He found a new apartment, smaller than his last one (when people didn’t know or care who you were they cared less about finding you a good space) but Eren didn’t mind. He liked the space. He liked that he had space.

 

When he made the mistake of turning his notifications back on he wished he hadn’t. He was flooded with messages professing love and support and allegiance towards him, and somehow that made him feel even more alone that sitting quietly in the empty apartment had and he found himself thinking _if you love me, where were you when I needed someone to love me—_

 

He turned them off again and left to clear his head.

 

He walked in no particular direction until he reached a coffee shop, pushed the door open and stood in the tiny doorway to take it in.

 

The people there looked stale like the pastries in the case, just like the people in the spotlights started to after long enough. He considered walking back out to find another coffee shop (not that it would be any better), but got distracted when he caught the gaze of two big, blue, beautiful eyes staring back at him.

 

Fuck. Maybe someone had recognized him.

 

He tentatively made his way over to the blonde, planning to try and buy his silence with money or an autographed record or tickets to a show (whenever that would be) or whatever the hell this boy’s style was. He opened his mouth to speak, and the other beat him to the punch by apologizing, telling Eren he was just… _really attractive and he didn’t mean to be creepy he swore and he usually wasn’t like that at all_.

 

It dawned on Eren that maybe he wasn’t in jeopardy after all.

 

He found himself smiling a full, genuine smile (not one for the cameras) for the first time in a year or so, and told the boy he was charming before asking him if he wanted to share a coffee.

 

Eren learned the boy’s name was Armin, and that he was just a little bit obsessed with Armin.

 

Armin was real. The words he said were real, not hollow inside, and Eren wished he could just sit and listen to him talk for the rest of his life. In the short few hours that they shared drinks Eren learned that Armin, too, had fled here from somewhere he’d rather not be anymore, a town not a lot unlike where Eren grew up. Geography, apparently, did nothing to change the way small towns operated. They laughed together over shared memories that were formed separately, and somehow all of the pain that Eren carried on his shoulders from growing up seemed to melt away with the blonde’s laughter.

 

Maybe this was the catharsis he’d been denied for the past three years, and he wondered if maybe he could cry with relief.

 

But instead he just laughed more so as not to startle Armin. He needed to make sure that he’d stick around a little while longer so that he could work up the nerve to ask for his number.

 

They almost planned to get dinner together the next day, but they both decided that would be too far away. Eren was relieved- he wasn’t ready to be alone with his thoughts again, and he wasn’t ready to walk back out into swathes of people without this boy by his side.

 

He wasn’t sure he ever would be again.

 

* * *

 

 

Eren and Armin quickly became inseparable.

 

They did everything together. They got meals when Armin wasn’t working, Armin showed Eren his favourite places and Eren showed Armin places he wanted to try out, and when they weren’t out they stayed over at each other’s apartments and did things like make dinner and watch movies together (Armin’s at first, and then Eren’s once he got it furnished with more than a mattress).

 

Somehow in a city where he only knew one name he felt less lonely than he had in a town where he was resented or a city where he was revered. Armin was so very available to him. He was warm, soft, kind, and he praised the things about Eren that others shied away from. He laughed and agreed with his cynical and frank observations about the world, even if they weren’t dreamy or poetic like what usually sold records. He validated Eren’s thoughts and feelings, the sharp and the soft, and he didn’t value one more than the other- it made Eren feel, for once, that he didn’t have a label. He could be complex. He too, could be as real as Armin was.

 

It was intoxicating. He wanted more.

 

More came in the form of Armin’s lips pressing against his skin, soft and sweet one night as they snuggled together to fit on Eren’s mattress as usual, and although the touch was so light it shook Eren to his core in the best sort of way. Somehow it was different. It wasn’t shallow flirting. It was gentle, maybe a little nervous, but determined and sincere and _for him and him alone_ , and Eren shyly pressed his lips against Armin’s forehead in return.

 

 _He writes music sometimes,_ he finally tells Armin, and he’s sure Armin doesn’t know where he’s going with this right then but he has a point, he swears it does and it’s related—

 

Armin replies that he would love to hear him sometime, gently urging him on and kissing the corner of his mouth because he can tell Eren’s not quite done, it’s in his voice.

 

Eren returns the gesture. He tells Armin that his most recent work is heavy, all of the things that it was too heavy for him to hold anymore, all of his failed relationships or attempts at relationships rather because who is he kidding he’s not sure he’s ever had a real relationship at all, not if he felt so lonely he wanted to run away and never go back. He thought he could outrun everyone who wanted to fix him, or shove him into a box with a label on it and only look at him from one side and shut the lid when he turned because they didn’t want to see him from any other angle and his songs were a cry for help to feel human that no one was hearing—

 

He doesn’t notice when he starts to use a string of words that he’s already used to write one of his songs, but he does notice when Armin finishes it, cups his cheeks and stares into his eyes.

 

With bitter resignation, bracing himself to shoulder the uncomfortable weight of his label yet again, he tells Armin that he supposes it was only a matter of time before Armin figured him out—

 

_And he thinks he might just be so crazy about him that maybe it’s okay if Armin boxes him up as long as Armin doesn’t give up his own real-ness—_

 

But Armin tells him he’d done that the moment he walked into the café, and he was just trying to respond to that crying he’d heard in Eren’s songs and seen in his face.

 

Eren starts actually crying into his hands, cheeks sticky with hot tears, and he’s not sure why he’s crying if Armin just told him all he’s ever wanted to hear.

 

 _This_ must be the catharsis he’d been waiting on.

 

Armin doesn’t tell him he looks ugly when he cries. Instead he croons to him softly, gently reassuring him that everything is okay and he’ll be there for Eren when he’s crying from now on, and he kisses the salt-water tears from Eren’s face and tastes them in his mouth. Eren finds himself thinking that it must be symbolic somehow, and with Armin taking him into his mouth Armin is helping him hold all of his something’s so that Eren doesn’t have to hold them alone anymore.

 

Eren finally presses their lips together when his sobs are no longer deep enough to shake his rib cage, trembling and clinging to the blonde for dear life. Armin does his best to try and steady him with his smaller frame, and Eren kisses him over, and over, and over, hungrily, and hungrier once he realized that Armin must have really been what he was looking for at nine years old.

 

And even though it took him this long, after all he’s been through Eren is just grateful he’s found Armin at all. He’s lucky that he found him with enough time to enjoy him.

 

Between kisses Eren tells Armin he wouldn’t mind crying forever if it means Armin will stay with him, and Armin tells Eren he will stay forever whether or not he cries.

 

They fall asleep, limbs twined together, and Eren decides that love isn’t a myth anymore. Armin’s just proven that.

 

* * *

 

 

When Eren’s lease in the city he got lost in is up he asks Armin to return to his first apartment with him. He thought about staying and recording in that city, sure- but now it is sacred, it is the place that he and Armin fell in love, and he doesn’t want to taint that with his work.

 

Armin tells him he would follow him to the ends of the Earth, packs his things into a U-haul truck, and flies to the other end of the country with him.

 

This time when Eren returns he writes songs about being in love. They are lighter than the last set he wrote but still have just as much heart, arguably even more than the last few where he was wilting, but for once he doesn’t care much about how they do in the world (although, for the record, they do well). He cares most about how they sound when he plays them in their apartment, sitting in front of Armin and Armin alone, watching him blush and smile and tear up as he serenades him.

 

Armin kisses him instead of clapping, and Eren realizes he didn’t know shit about love when he was twenty-three if he thought love was faceless people clapping and cheering. Love, he decides, is far quieter, it is the sound of tongue on tongue as he sets his guitar down to pull Armin into his lap for a night in.

 

At age twenty-nine a few years later Eren is saving up to buy Armin a ring and a house somewhere by the sea, away from the city, because Eren’s finally found what he was looking for there and he's ready to move again. This time, though, he won't be alone. Not ever again, Armin promises him. _Not ever again._

 

Eren exhales as Armin whispers it gently into his ear as he falls asleep, whispering content thanks and planning to return that realtor's call in the morning to schedule a time for he and Armin to look at those houses.


End file.
